A Season in Hell

‘Are you all right, Mrs Talbot?’

‘It’s quite simple. I just got news of my son’s death. That’s why I’m on my way to London. But I’ll be fine. I won’t break down on you, I promise.’

The young woman instinctively flung her arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Sarah kissed her on the cheek. ‘That’s very kind. I see Mr Barbera’s ordered coffee, but actually I’m a tea person.’

‘I’ll see to it.’

She took her seat again beside Barbera. ‘All right now?’ he asked.

‘I will be.’

‘When we’ve talked,’ he said calmly and raised a hand as if to forestall protest. ‘This is necessary, believe me.’

‘All right.’ She opened her bag, took the battered old silver cigarette case they’d found on Edward’s body at Mount Tumbledown and extracted a cigarette. She lit it, blew smoke up at the ceiling in a strangely defiant gesture. ‘You don’t mind?’

He smiled. ‘At my age, Mrs Talbot, you can’t afford to mind anything.’

‘How much do you know about me, Mr Barbera?’

‘They tell me you’re one of the best brains in Wall Street. And when you were very, very young, you were almost a Congresswoman.’

‘I was a rich little spoiled bitch. My father seemed to have all the money in the world. Because I didn’t have a mother he indulged me. Oh, I went to Radcliffe, graduated magna cum laude. No trouble. I was very bright, you see. I didn’t need to work. I smoked marijuana like everyone else did in the sixties and I screwed around like everyone else did.’ She turned sideways to look at him. ‘Does that shock you?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘I had a boyfriend who dropped out of college and was drafted to Vietnam. They gave him a gun and sent him off to play. He only lasted three months. Pure mindless destruction.’ She shook her head. ‘I was very smart. I didn’t join the protest movement until after I got my party’s nomination to Congress.’

‘And your father didn’t like that.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Didn’t speak to me for three years. Considered me some sort of traitor. The voters didn’t think much of me either. I finally pulled out and decided to get my MBA and then go to work.’ She laughed. ‘Wall Street beckoned.’

‘Where you could show your father what you were made of?’

‘In spades. And I did too.’ There was the defiance there again. ‘Mind you, I did please him in one way. In my husband.’

‘I didn’t realize until tonight that you’d been married.’

‘Oh, yes, if briefly. To an English army colonel. It didn’t last long. He was killed in the Falklands, but he did leave me my stepson.’

‘I see.’

‘I wonder if you do? Eric’s mother died when he was born. I understood that because I’d gone through the same pain. I understood him and he understood me.’

‘And now he’s gone. What happened?’

She sat there thinking about it for a moment, then got her briefcase from under the seat, opened it and took out the buff envelope containing the material Villiers had sent over from London. ‘Read that.’

She lit another cigarette and lay back in her seat while Barbera worked through the various papers. He didn’t say a word until he was finished. He carefully replaced the papers in the envelope and turned to her, his face like a stone.

‘Drugs,’ she said. ‘How could he? Heroin – cocaine.’

‘You told me earlier how you smoked pot back in the sixties. It’s an even worse problem for kids these days because it’s all so available.’

‘You would know, wouldn’t you?’ The words were out before she could take them back.

He showed no anger. ‘Mrs Talbot, I’m an old-fashioned man. Sure, I was what you would term a gangster, but those I harmed tended to be my own kind. To me, other people were civilians. My family had business with the unions, gambling, prostitution, even booze during Prohibition, and these are human failings which everyone understands. But I tell you this. The Barbera family never took a penny on the drugs market. My grandson, Vito, in London, for example. We got three casinos there. Restaurants, betting shops.’ He shrugged. ‘How much does a man need?’

‘But Eric,’ she said. ‘I still don’t understand.’

‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s a popular misconception that people on hard drugs are hooked by some pusher. The first fix is almost always offered by a friend. Probably he was at some student party the first time it happened. Had a few drinks …’

‘But afterwards,’ she said. ‘Afterwards came the pushers, the suppliers, all happy to keep the pot boiling. To destroy young people on the threshold of life, and for what? For money.’

‘To some people money is serious business, Mrs Talbot. But let’s leave that on one side. What do you intend to do about this? What do you want?’

‘Justice, I suppose.’

He laughed harshly. ‘A rare commodity in this wicked world. Look, the law is a joke. You go to court, it goes on and on. The rich and powerful can buy anything they require because most men are corruptible.’

‘Then what would you do?’

‘It’s difficult for me. Spilled blood cries out for vengeance, that is the Sicilian way. My son dies, he must be avenged. It isn’t a question of choice. I have no choice. I can do no other.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re from a different world. Violence has never had any place in your life, I suspect.’

‘That’s true. I once saw a fist fight as we were driving through the Bronx, from my privileged position in the rear seat of a Cadillac.’

He smiled bleakly. ‘That’s good, you can mock yourself. But now, there is something you must promise me you will do and it is essential.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You must insist on seeing your son’s body.’ He raised a hand to stop her saying anything. ‘No matter how terrible an ordeal. Believe me, I know a great deal about death and of this I am certain. You must see for yourself, you must mourn, or you will be haunted for the rest of your life.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘And there is one more thing you must face up to. Something quite terrible.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘The French coroner’s verdict was clear. Accidental death by drowning under the influence of drugs and alcohol.’

‘That’s right.’

‘His body, Mrs Talbot, was a considerable convenience to those who used it. It occurs to me that it might have been more than a convenience that it was available at all.’

She said flatly, ‘You’re actually suggesting that there was no accident to any of this?’ It was difficult for her to get the word out, but she forced herself. ‘That he was murdered.’

‘Please. It’s all been very convenient, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t wish to make things worse for you than they already are. I’ve lived in a harsh world for too many years. I tend to suspect the worst.’